Epilogue

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I'm not sure what disturbs me more: the memory of the sound of Knell's body connecting with the pavement thirteen stories down, generating the most unique combination of wet flesh and crunching bone; or the fact that the musician's apparent suicide skyrocketed Knell's latest album to the top of the charts.

The clip showing Knell storming off of the set of Letterman had been replayed thousands of times on virtually every news broadcast; not to mention the millions of views received on the various versions that have been uploaded to YouTube. The media and general public have interpreted and re-interpreted Knell's last publicly spoken words as a sign that he was going to take his own life.

"I tire of this," Knell's last recorded words, have become the mantra of a society obsessed with a star's inability to deal with the angst of his musically tortured soul. Knell has been compared to Kurt Cobain in terms of the effect of his suicide, and to Elvis and Michael Jackson with respect to the life ending prematurely; particularly those who believe that Knell might not have purposely taken his own life, but rather fell due to some accident.

The authorities officially ruled Knell's death a suicide , but that hasn't stopped the speculation that it was either an accident or that he, perhaps, might have been pushed. Theories about any number of likely guilty parties continue to swirl, and at times it seems as if the controversy surrounding Knell's death will never end.

I have woken up in a cold sweat several times over the past week with the image of Knell grinning at me while he fell. He knew I wouldn't let him die, and it sickens me that he took such pleasure in my direct involvement of his death. He knew that, even though I tried to save him, I was unable to. And in several ways, he got his final revenge against me.

I have second-guessed myself multiple times; wondering if I had let him go on purpose, as if some deeper part of me needed him to be dead in order to preserve the secret of lycanthropy from the public.

Gail, who has been here the whole time; sitting by my bed while I have healed, staying on the couch and never leaving my side, and who witnessed the entire incident, reminds me that I did my best to save him; that it's simply not in me to want another person dead.

Her understanding helps. Having Gail back in my life, even just as a friend, has been a wonderfully healing element. I screwed up when I lost her, but having her back, even in this platonic way, is an incredible salve on my soul. Her presence is as healing as the transformations I have made the past several nights during this phase of the moon.

Every time I transfer between man and wolf the injuries to my hand and to my leg undergo a significant improvement.

And Gail's presence during the transformations have been incredible.

That night, just seconds after Knell's plummet, Gail reached the roof. Knowing that the crushed body on the alley below would alert the authorities soon enough, the two of us managed to escape down back the fire escape and into the building, down an elevator and out onto the street. We managed to get a cab back to The Algonquin before the sun slipped down in the western sky and I began my transformation into a wolf.

I transformed right there in my apartment with Gail watching me. And, through the haze of pain and the odd way that I felt my consciousness slipping away from me during the descent into my animal form, we merely looked at one another in silence. Gail knew every intimate secret about me, but it didn't bother me in the slightest for her to see me at my absolute weakest and my absolute worst.

She was there when I again awoke from the transformation. Unlike the previous night, where snippets of memory came back to me in bold flashes, I can recall only a single thing about that night.

I can recall laying on my paws, confused about my surroundings inside a human-built setting, but comforted by the presence of this woman, by her familiar and friendly scent. I can recall pushing aside the desire to run and to stalk through the night and be content merely to share this small and confined space with her. This human meant me no harm. I felt safe. This human was a friend. I felt safe.

Gail told me that, in my wolf form I must have recognized her, because, after the initial confusion I displayed upon changing, I sniffed at her and then maintained my distance from her, laying several feet away and just sitting there watching her.

She told me that we both sat there staring at one another long into the wee hours of the morning, and that she had fallen asleep some time after watching me close my wolf eyes and drift away.

I woke the next day feeling significantly healed from my wounds from the day before, but with my hand still throbbing in pain. Gail managed to keep Mack away from me while I healed, explaining that I was hard at work on my next novel and she wasn't letting anybody disturb me. I did actually get a few hours of writing completed; and not for the first time I wondered if the writing block that I had experienced had something to do with not having had Gail in my life. That her being back, even in this unique new way she was a part of my life, was enough for me to regain what I had previously lost.

On the second night, Gail and I walked to the park where, again, she watched me change into wolf form and then waited while I tore around on all fours. Whereas the first night I needed to rest and to heal from my wounds, this second night I was closer to normal.

By the fourth night, my body was no longer taken over by the moon phase, and I didn't feel my body's natural inclination to change. Being able to talk it through with Gail was a wonderful thing. We speculated at how my body, my particular affliction, was something I had no control of. That, combined with my inability to remember the change might very well have been what preserved my sanity.

Unlike Knell. He seemed completely able to change, at will, during the same phases of the moon that I was a prisoner of. But perhaps his ability to remain conscious of the change might have been a contributing factor to his ferocious insanity .

On the fifth night, knowing I was now fully healed, that we had at least sorted out a few elements, Gail went back to her own apartment.

I had wanted, more than once, to invite her to come in to my bedroom, to snuggle up to me, to re-live the love that we had once had.

But I knew that, in the same way I was hurting from my involvement in Knell's death, she was still trying to come to terms with Howard and the betrayed love.

So when she said she would be heading home that fifth night, I gave her a hug, feeling the strength of her heart beating so strong against my chest even without my super senses telling me.

I imagined that, perhaps, in time, we could sort through the confusion, sort through the hurt, and maybe, one day, re-discover the thread of love that had originally brought us together.

But in the meantime, we had a friendship and a bond that I knew made me a stronger person; made me a better human being.

I stood in my bedroom window with the lights off inside and looked down at the street as Gail walked out the front entrance of The Algonquin and got into a cab.

As the car drove off into the night, I watched it disappear around the corner but remained looking further down the city street and out over the city . My city.

Our city.


-- END --

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